


In the Ruins of the Earth

by Lordoflesamis



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Cannibalism, I'm Sorry, MY BABIES, Multi, Violence Against Zombies, Zombie Apocalypse, i don't know i wanted to write a zombie au, threats of rape/non-con/abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 21:06:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10839459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lordoflesamis/pseuds/Lordoflesamis
Summary: A parasitic illness claimed its first victim in Paris, France, almost two months ago. Since then chaos has over-taken much of Europe, making it increasingly difficult to stay alive, and to stay with those who you love. Grantaire, Eponine, Gavroche and Joly wander the remains of the world, desperately searching for signs of their friends, for safety. Grantaire regrets not telling Enjolras how he feels, Eponine regrets not getting over Marius sooner and Joly regrets waiting to start a family with his partners.Angst with a happy ending, I promise. I don't do major character death, but side-characters are liable to death in this.





	In the Ruins of the Earth

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I'm really into zombie movies at the moment, so here's the love-child of my love for them and musicals! I hope you enjoy!

“Be careful,” Eponine whispered, readjusting her stance in the grass and grip on the rope. 

“No shit,” Grantaire replied, checking once more that the rope was tied tight, before taking a few small steps backwards, glancing over his shoulder repeatedly as he reached the edge of the trapdoor. 

“Remember,” Joly called from the platform, a good few feet below and in a much sturdier position than they were, his arm around Gavroche to stop the boy coming to help, “If it smells like urine, sick or faeces don’t collect it.”

“Got it,” Grantaire said, nodding at Eponine who offered an encouraging nod, digging the heel of her boot into the metal. He took a deep breath, and stepped backwards, his feet losing floor, and falling a few feet into the dark of the water tank.

His shout as he fell echoed around the tank as he dangled about a centimetre above the water, slowly swinging on the rope, which was held up by Eponine, Gavroche and tied to the platform on which the others stood. “Okay, I can do this,” he muttered as he was slowly lowered, scooping a little of the water in his palm and bringing it to his face, inhaling deeply. It smelt stale, but sanitary. 

“It’s clean!” he called, feeling close to tears with relief. 

There was a whoop of delight from Joly somewhere outside the tank, and Gavroche jumped up and down, shaking the rope slightly. Eponine approached the edge and passed down the first container, an 8-litre bottle that had, before the end, been stored in the café musain’s back room, full of apple juice. If Grantaire focused long enough he could still taste it, the sickly sweetness of the fruit on his tongue. At least the world hadn’t died with the human race.

He screwed the lid on the container and let it float, dipping his hands into the cool water and pouring some on his face, not minding that he had to lean almost vertical to do so. “This is the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he said, and Eponine laughed, a sound he hadn’t heard in a while but would treasure forever. 

“Throw down the next,” he grinned, and she did, calling to Joly to grab some from the car. 

The car ran on petrol Combeferre had stolen the day the trains had stopped running. Grantaire could still remember the awe which had swollen in his chest as the usually quiet man had saved their skins, as cool and collected as if he was explaining a philosophical theory. A pang in his chest reminded Grantaire to stop dwelling on their long-lost friends; they had to focus on themselves. 

“Don’t let your clothes touch the water” his friend replied, sliding down the fallen water tank to the car, glancing around the bones of the industrial park in which they were, for people perhaps or for the infected. On seeing neither, he sighed with relief and grabbed three of the containers, finishing the last few mouthfuls of one and climbing back up the tank, “Gavroche, take these.”

“Got it, doc,” the boy- or teenager, he supposed- grabbed them and threw them one by one to Eponine who slid the now-full container back to him. 

For a while they worked in silence, then Joly began to sing, to stop the memories coming back, “I can see for miles and miles and…”

Eponine smiled to herself, taking the newly-full container from Grantaire with ease and sliding it to her brother. She was careful not to let the dirt from her hands touch the top; while she wasn’t Infected, there were other diseases they had to be careful of catching from the dried blood on her hands. 

“Are we in Spain?” Gavroche asked suddenly, having noticed that he couldn’t read the writing on the side of the tank. Joly nodded, smiling broadly, 

“We made it to Andorra last night. Not long till Barcelona if my directions are right.”

“And you think the airport’s still open?” Eponine asked, looking around; There was no movement for miles, perhaps everyone had evacuated. The last of their phones had died yesterday, when they’d left France finally, almost a month after the start of the Infection. 

“Maybe,” Joly mused, “But if not there might still be ports open.”

“I hope so.” Grantaire piped up, “Because I do not fancy our chances of travelling through the rest of Europe.”

The original plan had been to go to England, where the island had not been infected like the continent, but the country had shut its borders and quarantined all arrivals almost as soon as the parasite had been discovered, in Paris. Marius, Cosette and her father had been holidaying in Calais, and one of the last groups to get across before the ferries stopped. 

They’d lost the rest of their friends in the chaos there. Grantaire could still remember his hand on Jehan’s arm, grasping as they were pulled away, calling for him to come find them. He could, briefly, when he wanted to torture himself, hear Enjolras struggling to reach them through the crowd, and the moment when he’d called for Grantaire himself, desperation in his voice for the first time since he’d met the love of his life.

“God,” he whispered to himself, hearing the harsh syllable echo around the tank, and dipping the next container in the water. 

Outside, the sun was hot, and Eponine squinted as an approaching car glinted in the distance.

“We’ve got company,” she warned

“They might not have noticed us,” Joly said, gesturing for Gavroche to follow him to the car. They moved quickly, leaping into the front, ready to drive with the clean water they’d gathered if necessary. 

Eponine gripped the kitchen knife she had in her belt, ready to plunge into the tank with Grantaire if necessary, or perhaps to fight if it called for it. It was most likely the other group would leave them alone, but they had been attacked for their supplies before.  
Inside the tank, Grantaire tensed, and hoped. It was funny what had happened to them. He was a sceptic before, and they, especially Joly and Gavroche, had been idealists. To see their world crash around them had devastated them, especially Joly who had lost, in one moment, the two people he loved dearest in the world. Eponine had clung to Gavroche, as always, so her world was somewhat still whole. Grantaire’s world had always been dark, with depression and experience of some truly awful things. Yet he had persisted, continued, lived, loved. And he continued to do so, even though the world was gone. 

Now he hoped, against all odds, as he had hoped before Enjolras would love him in return, that some of their friends were approaching, or at the very least, they would be left alone. 

“I recognise that car,” Eponine said, suddenly, in thought. He glanced up at her, but could only see her standing statue-still. Her mind was going a mile a minute.

“That’s Claquesous’ car.” She said, then shouted it, taking off towards the vehicle. Joly, who did not recognise the vehicle, and if he had would have warned her of the possibility it had changed ownership, protested, climbing out of the car. But she was not stopped, the two running breathlessly to the road, waving down the car which screeched to a halt in front of them. 

“Eponine?” Montparnasse was dishevelled, though more devilishly handsome somehow with more a rugged appearance. He clambered out the car and wrapped his friend in his arms, lifting and spinning Gavroche who had followed the two, leaving Grantaire in the tank, concerned and in the dark- literally as well. 

He was not alone, Azelma and Babet were also in the car, and Eponine wept with delight at the sight of her sister, falling to the ground as the girl placed her hand on her shoulder, smiling through her own tears.

Joly, too received a hug from Montparnasse who handed him a piece of paper, “This is from that waitress you love so much,” he said with a smile, modest and unwilling to receive thanks for delivering the note. Joly kissed his cheek anyway, tearing up before he’d even opened it, his heart beating fast.

“Grantaire’s still in the tank,” Gavroche reminded Eponine, who had pulled Azelma into a tight embract, standing now. 

“Shit, yeah.” She said, “Come help me pull him out, ‘Parnasse.”

“Will do, ‘Ponine,” he said warmly, gesturing to Babet to bring the car to the tank, running ahead with Eponine. Joly, Azelma and Gavroche climbed into the car, the former unwrapping the letter- which was covered in dirt, understandably, with shaking fingers. 

“Our Dearest,

We have no idea how to contact you. We’ve given this letter to about fifty people, strangers and friends alike, and we hope it reaches you somehow.

We love you, and we’re sticking together, don’t worry. I won’t let Bousset’s luck hurt him, and I won’t let anyone get sick, I know you’ll do the same. We didn’t get to England from Calais, and the last we’ve heard is to travel through Italy to Malta, which is an island like the UK, and hasn’t closed its borders to the un-infected. Much of Spain is dangerous, and there is little hope for Gibraltar or the other islands which lead to Africa. 

This is the worst thing I’ve ever had to write, because I’m afraid it might never reach you. Please come and find us in Malta, we’re currently heading back towards Paris with Combeferre, Bahorel and Feuilly, no sign of the others, I’m sorry. 

I hope you’re safe, and I hope you will find us. We’re not the same without you, or any of the others. 

Love you to the moon and back, 

Chetta and Bousset xxx”

“Don’t cry, Joly, it’ll be alright.” Gavroche said, and for the first time in a while, Joly believed it. 

///

 

The train was packed to the brim with people. Enjolras lifted Jehan in close to himself, glaring at a man who protested to the extra person. Courfeyrac stood to his other side, helping a mother hold her children close to her, the little girl in his arms sobbing with fright at the situation. It was July, and hot, and they were all thirsty. 

Everyone in the carriage was hyper aware of the danger they were in. An Infected could get in, or could already be in, and they’d be dead as soon as the parasite took hold. A fire could start. A stampede could begin, and they could be crushed. Courfeyrac saw the fear in the girl’s eyes and vowed to protect her from all possible outcomes. 

The train began to move, much to the protests of those outside. A sigh of relief ran through the carriage like a heart-breaking Mexican wave as they prepared for what they would find on the other side. The train jolted slightly as it sped out of Bruges, the first in two weeks, after the area had been declared in a state of emergency evacuation as Calais had been. 

“It should take an hour and a half,” Jehan murmered, who had travelled this route before, on their gap year, and Enjolras nodded in acknowledgement, glancing around nervously. His grip tightened on Jehan’s arm, and his friend rubbed their thumb over his, smiling sweetly at the man who had protested their safety. 

“After we arrive at the central station we need to find some food then take the train to Amsterdam,” he said, “I think a lot of people will be doing that so I suggest we find a place to stay until early tomorrow morning, when lots of people will be sleeping or have moved on. They’re evacuating Bruges in batches, so if we wait for the next batch to have gone through we will have a better chance of staying together.” 

He didn’t know, in truth, if he was correct in saying so, but a plan needed to be drawn, and he was hungry. They’d given the last of their rations to a pregnant woman back at the station, who was waiting there for her boyfriend and father of the unborn child. How awful, thought Enjolras, to have to give birth in such a world. 

“Do you think they’re all heading for Iceland?” Jehan murmered and Enjolras shifted. He had always been so sure of himself before, had always known what to do and who to ask when he didn’t. He didn’t want to lose that. 

“I should think some are heading to America. I know they’re being forced to take people, so long as they’re not infected.” 

Jehan nodded against Enjolras’ chest and poked Courfeyrac, “Do we have any water left?”

“Not much,” their friend replied, rubbing the back of his neck, “Here.” He gave it to the redhead, who sipped a little and returned it.

The rest of the journey was spent in mostly silence, the sounds of crying people and screaming children echoing around the carriage. Two men were arguing further down, cramped together and irritable; scared.

There was an unpleasant noise, and the train stopped, suddenly; half an hour early. 

“Oh no,” said Jehan

“I’m sure it’s just being checked for Infected,” Courfeyrac said, not quite believing himself.

A gun shot in the carriage in front made them jump, and people began to panic, some scrambling to look out the window, others trying hard to conceal themselves. The mother, Amelie, held her son and daughter close to her, bending to their level, praying for their safety. Courfeyrac’s hand was in Enjolras’. 

The door dividing the carriages was kicked open and a large man with a machine gun stood in the doorway, “Give us your supplies and nobody gets hurt!”

There was silence, for a moment, the carriage pausing, then everyone began to move in a rush. Some moved to surrender their supplies, the man beside them shoved through the crowd and broke a window, scrambling to escape with his supplies. Some followed suit, most stood stock still with nothing to offer. 

Enjolras didn’t like bullies at the best of times. He pulled the gun he’d traded for some bread out of his back pocket and pointed it at the man’s head, “Don’t you dare.” 

Courfeyrac pulled Jehan behind their friend and leader, worried their closeness would get them in danger.

All of a sudden, before either man could fire, a scream pierced the chaos, and a person behind the robber yelled, his voice resounding and horrifying, “They’re Infected! Save yourselves!”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos and/or a comment, let me know what you think! :D


End file.
